His Tiny Sun

Chapter 37 - Visible Wounds

CHAPTER 37

Visible Wounds

Alan found Jonah lying on his bed, staring at the holes he’d punched into his wall.

It was no surprise. On most days, Jonah didn’t have the motivation to get up in the morning. He did get dressed today, and he was lying on top of the covers of his partially made bed, so there was some progress. The bandages on his knuckles weren’t bloody, either. It was a good sign. Or so Alan hoped.

Jonah had taken the previous week off from work, and according to his mom, hadn’t gone this week either. Alan didn’t ask, but he suspected Jonah had either quit or lost his job.

Jonah had no filter at the moment, and what came out of his mouth could be excessively hurtful. Alan wouldn’t blame Jonah’s boss if he had preferred to let him go. There was a high probability that Jonah had told his boss to go fuck himself—or another colorful variant of the sentiment.

Although Alan wanted to spend every minute of every day with Jonah, he’d given him all the space he needed, while still supporting him to the best of his ability.

It wasn’t an easy position to be in.

On Jonah’s worst days, Alan had been forced to ask Eric for a ride home because he would start sobbing as soon as he stepped outside Jonah’s basement. The way Eric’s nostrils flared when he’d pick him up hadn’t escaped Alan’s notice, but Eric had been kind enough to keep his anger contained.Alan would forever be grateful for it.

After two weeks of trial and error, Alan was starting to feel confident that he may have found a promising balance.He hoped, with all his heart, that today was going to be one of Jonah’s best days because he had something important to do, which required Jonah’s full cooperation.

“Hey,” Alan said as he circled the bed to go stand in Jonah’s field of view. “I got this for you.”

Jonah didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes studied Alan’s offering with an unmistakable—albeit faint—spark of interest.

Alan placed the coffee and omelet sandwich from the Goliath Café on Jonah’s nightstand, then walked to the other side of the bed, so he could lie down behind Jonah. “Can I touch you?”

Jonah nodded, prompting Alan to start massaging the back of Jonah’s neck. The tension he’d accumulated there was nearly concerning. His muscles had the consistency of cement blocks. Alan could only imagine how much it hurt…on top of everything else.

Alan moved closer to Jonah, wrinkling his nose at the odors emanating from him. Hopefully, today would be the day Jonah had the energy to take a shower.

“I saw the chonkiest bumblebee on my way here,” Alan shared. He’d noticed that lighthearted chatter almost always elevated Jonah’s mood. “It was so big, its butt and back legs were sticking out of all the flowers it crawled into. It was so cute! I snapped a few pictures. I’ll show you later.”

Jonah took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his neck relaxing ever so slightly under Alan’s fingers.

It gave Alan courage.

“I got a new subscriber on my fanfiction account. I now have sixty-nine, which I find embarrassingly funny. I blame Eric. His awful sense of humor rubbed off on me over the years.”

Alan had found that the occasional remark at Eric’s expense usually granted him a small smile from Jonah. Today was no exception, and to Alan’s supreme relief, it was followed by Jonah sitting up and reaching for the sandwich.

Alan sat up as well and placed his hand on Jonah’s thigh, stroking it softly with his thumb while Jonah took out the sandwich from the paper bag. Things were going remarkably well so far. Maybe Alan would manage to convince Jonah to go to therapy after all.

Jonah had canceled his appointment the previous week, and seeing as he probably didn’t have any revenue anymore, Alan was afraid he would give up on it entirely. Alan had asked Jonah’s mom and his friends if they knew the name of his psychotherapist, but as he’d suspected, they didn’t.

Desperate, Alan had browsed the websites of all psychology clinics and practitioners in the area in hopes of finding a clue that might help him make a deduction. That was when he saw a name that rang a bell, and reminded him of Jonah’s strange reaction when Eric had mentioned their Sensei .

The picture Alan had found in a newspaper article praising Dr. Gruger’s outstanding contributions to the field had confirmed his hunch. The man who made him cry during combat class was the same man who’d been helping Jonah heal from his trauma—and also the author of many of Alan’s university textbooks.

When Alan had finally connected the dots, he’d sent Dr. Gruger an email. He’d begun by saying he wasn’t expecting a reply, as he was aware that a therapist wasn’t allowed to disclose anything about his therapeutic relationship with a client—or to confirm it existed at all.

That done, Alan had notified him that weekly payments would be made to his email address, and that he would do his best to convince Jonah to go see him on Thursday nights at the agreed upon time.

Dr. Gruger’s hourly rate was one thing Alan hadn’t struggled to figure out, seeing as Jonah had constantly been complaining about it.

Dr. Gruger had replied with a simple: ‘I acknowledge receipt of your email’ .

“It’s good,” Jonah whispered as he chewed his food slightly faster than yesterday.

Alan smiled, then rested his head against Jonah’s shoulder. He’d noticed that Jonah didn’t like being coddled too much, so Alan had started pretending that nothing was wrong, and that they were just spending some quiet time together. It benefited the both of them.

Jonah had repeatedly refused to let Alan hold him, which had confused him at first, but then he’d remembered that grief expressed itself differently for everyone. Alan had come to the conclusion that behaving as though it were Alan who needed support was Jonah’s strange—but valid nonetheless—way of coping.

When Jonah didn’t need space, he embraced Alan and enveloped him in his protective warmth. Sometimes, when the emotions were too loud, Jonah would pull Alan into his lap and rock him in his arms, while he shed silent tears that Alan pretended not to notice. Those were the good days. On bad days, Jonah barely acknowledged Alan’s presence.

It was extremely disheartening, especially when Alan saw the effect Jonah’s state had on his mom. Alan had grown excessively fond of her, and it broke his heart when he went upstairs and her hopeful eyes dimmed at the absence of a smile on his face. When it happened, he couldn’t help feeling as though he’d let her down—that he’d failed her.

Alan perked up as he felt Jonah’s hand land on top of his own. Hand-holding was a definitive sign of a good day.

Alan closed his eyes and relished the moment as they sat in silence for a while, Jonah’s thumb softly stroking Alan’s finger as he savored his coffee. Alan wished they could just stay like this, but he’d come here with a mission, and he had to go through with it. Jonah’s well-being depended on it.

“Do you want to take a shower before your appointment?” Alan asked.

Jonah’s hand became limp. “I’m not going.”

Stay calm.

“I think you should,” Alan said gently.

“Can’t afford it. Don’t have a job anymore.”

It’s okay. You’ve practiced this. You can do it.

“I can,” Alan said.

Jonah let out a sharp sigh. “Alan—”

“—I’ve never shared this with anyone,” Alan interjected firmly, keeping his head on Jonah’s shoulder to avoid seeing the irritation in his eyes. “But when I lost my parents, I inherited alot of money. I’m not as well off as Flavien, but trust me, I have way more than I could ever spend. If you want to repay me someday, then fine. But please. Jonah. Let me do this.”

Alan listened closely to the terrifying silence, barely daring to breathe as he waited for Jonah’s reaction.

Please. Jonah. Please.

Jonah exhaled a long breath, his hand seemingly coming back to life as he resumed stroking Alan’s finger. “I’ll pay you back.”

Alan bit the inside of his cheeks to stop the squeal that wanted to burst out of his chest. “Let’s consider this a loan, then,” he said, doing his best to hide his elation from his voice. “Wanna take a shower before we go?”

“I already cancelled.”

“It’s common practice for therapists to keep themselves available in case their client change their mind after a cancellation,” Alan recited from the repertoire of arguments he’d practiced on his way to Jonah’s house. In truth, he’d only vaguely heard about it once or twice, but it didn’t matter because he was certain that Dr. Gruger would be there. “Do you want me to give him a call?”

Jonah sighed. “No—”

Alan’s heart sank.

“—I’ll do it,” Jonah said.

Alan failed to stop his toes from wiggling at how happy he was. Today was a really good day. As soon as Jonah hopped into the shower, he’d run up the stairs and share the good news with his mom.

Alan couldn’t wait to see her beautiful smile again.

———

“Why do people like that exist? ” Jonah snapped, his hands balled into tight fists atop his bruised knees.

Who the fuck discussed incriminating shit out in the open? Why did Elliot have to pay with his life because three brain-dead morons were apparently privy to dangerous information? How did one of them have to turn himself in for the two others to be found and arrested? Were all detectives brain-dead dipshits too?

“I wish I had the answer to that question,” Ian said.

Jonah glared at his psychologist. He was starting to wonder why the fuck he even thought coming here would be a good idea. Ian had done nothing but piss him off since Jonah took a seat in the blue chair.

Jonah was wasting his time. He was wasting Alan’s money. Nothing good would come out of this. It was best that he left before he lost control of his temper even more than he already had. “I don’t know why I even bothered,” Jonah grumbled as he stood up. “We’re done.”

“You have thirty-two minutes left,” Ian said plainly.

Every single cell in Jonah’s body flared up with anger. “Shove them up your ass for all I care.”

“Sit back down.”

“Why?” Jonah snapped, gesturing at Ian’s stupidly organized desk. “So you can keep reciting shitty platitudes from your textbooks?”

“I wrote those textbooks.”

Jonah stuttered. He fucking hated when he stuttered. And he hated that Ian looked entirely unfazed by his outburst.

Fuck you—fucking asshole.

“Sit down. ”

Jonah glared at the tiny man, who just held his gaze impassively. His body language hadn’t changed one bit since the beginning of their session. Even when Jonah had retold the scene from five years ago and nearly had a panic attack, no emotion had crossed the psychologist’s apathetic face.

How the hell could someone be like that and not be a psychopath? Did he get off on his clients’ distress? Go home and jerk off to the fury and sorrow he saw in their eyes?

“What’s wrong with you?” Jonah shouted despite himself. “Why are you like this?”

Ian jerked his chin toward the blue chair, in which Jonah sat back down, for some reason.

This is your last chance.

“That’s one question I can give you the answer to.”

That took Jonah by surprise, and he hated that he couldn’t hide it from his face—because he wasn’t a fucking psychopath.

“When you go through an event that’s traumatizing enough to make you feel like you’ll never recover, you reach a fork down the metaphorical road of your existence. That’s where you choose between living or dying.”

“How’s that answering my question?”

“Those of us who decide to keep on living,” Ian continued, ignoring Jonah’s remark entirely, “whether we realize it or not, make it our mission to find meaning in the event that made us despise our existence with every fiber of our being.”

Those of us…

‘Dr. Gruger specializes in trauma and grief counseling.’

“Some seek that meaning in the projects they undertake, the profession they choose, or the causes they support. Some invest into their personal growth, their cherished ones’ happiness, or the well-being of their community. There are as many avenues as there are survivors, but they all have one thing in common. Do you know what that is, Mr. Delamare?”

Jonah rolled his eyes. “No, but you’re going to tell me.”

“A drive to get back at life.”

Jonah huffed. “The only way I can get back at life is to do to them the same atrocities they did to him.”

“Here’s shitty platitude number seventy-one: no amount of anger, hatred, or violence will bring him back.”

“Telling me that won’t make my anger magically disappear.”

“Anger is a healthy emotion to feel, Mr. Delamare, but you can’t, and won’t ever get the chance to unleash it upon them.”

“Then what the fuck do I do with it?”

“You unleash it upon the verbal punching bag you have sitting across from you.”

Jonah opened his mouth in perplexity, but he didn’t get to say a thing before Ian started talking again.

“Let me be perfectly clear ,” Ian said, emphasizing the two last words. “When you’re in this room, you don’t have to hold back. This is a safe space—your safe space—to let those emotions breathe. It won’t hurt my feelings if you disagree with my methods, and I won’t go home crying if you raise your voice or look at me like I’m a despicable asshole.”

Ian leaned forward and held Jonah’s gaze intently for a moment, before continuing, “But we can’t say the same about the other people in your life.”

Jonah deflated. No matter how hard he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to avoid being a heartless dick to everyone he cared about. His mom in particular received the worst of it. Jonah knew he hurt her feelings—he heard her crying on more than one occasion—but all it did was to spark even more fury, which he then redirected toward himself.

Jonah hated himself for being so venomous and useless—like a cancer to society. He no longer had a job, treated his mom like shit, barely paid Alan any attention, didn’t reply to his friends’ texts, and wasn’t even able to shower on most days.

Meanwhile, those fucking pieces of shit murderers were still breathing the same air as everyone else.

And Jonah kept on letting them ruin his life further.

“We tend to unload our frustrations on the people closest to us,” Ian said. “Those we wrongly believe we can’t lose. Family members, partners, long-term friends.”

Stop reading my fucking mind.

“I’m offering for you to come here twice a week and unload it on me instead,” Ian said.

“T-twice? I don’t know if…”

“It’s already been paid for.”

Jonah felt like a sack of rocks as gravity pulled him toward the ground. His remaining anger fully deserted his body and left behind a useless carcass that held nothing but exhaustion and shame. “I don’t deserve him.”

“His opinion differs. ”

A tear trickled down Jonah’s cheek at the overwhelming mixture of emotions he was hit with. He felt the familiar sensation of his body growing numb at the assault, like he was stepping outside himself and watching the scene through blurry glasses.

It had always been always like this. The only thing he’d ever been able to express was anger. Each time he’d tried to observe his other emotions, he’d panicked and shoved them underneath the metaphorical rug of his resentment.

There was no way he would survive this. He was nowhere near strong enough.

“Mr. Delamare.”

Jonah looked up at his psychotherapist, whose face was not so inexpressive anymore.

“Open the valve.”

———

The clouds gave the sun a break, allowing its warm rays to shine upon Alan’s gently swaying hair, making him look like an angel. Just a minute ago, the sky was covered in a thick blanket of white and gray, but there was now a sun-shaped opening that happened to be perfectly aligned with it.

If they were in a movie, Elliot’s face would materialize above their heads, and he would give Jonah an affectionate smile before fading away. None of that happened, however; instead, Jonah squinted as he was suddenly stabbed in the eyes by the sun rays.

“Thank you,” Alan murmured.

Jonah wrapped his arms tightly around Alan and nuzzled his hair, relishing how perfectly he fit in his lap. There was no doubt about it; Alan had been specifically made for Jonah to hold close.

Jonah inhaled the delightful scent of Alan’s shampoo and closed his eyes, taking a moment to appreciate how comfortable and at peace he felt. Those feelings had long been foreign concepts to him.

Jonah’s gaze once again found the unicorn they’d all pitched in to have engraved on Elliot’s headstone five years ago. It was still in perfect condition, the weather having been kinder to it than its neighbors, it seemed. Life owed Elliot that much.

Alan slowly caressed the blades of grass they were sitting on, his fingers moving rhythmically to the beat of an imaginary song. His other hand was wrapped around Jonah’s wrist, stroking it with his thumb, following the same languid rhythm. “For bringing me here,” Alan specified as he pressed his forehead against Jonah’s neck.

Jonah realized that those were the first words Alan had told him since he picked him up an hour or so ago. It was one of the numerous things Jonah liked about him. Alan had swiftly learned when—and how—to give him space. It was an underrated skill. “He would have liked you.”

It was quite the understatement. They would have become close friends in a heartbeat, uniting their forces to challenge Jonah’s world view every chance they got. It would have pissed off the teenager Jonah was back then, but his adult self chose to believe they would have softened him up eventually.

“I would have liked him too,” Alan said.

Jonah almost made a teasing remark about how Alan liked everyone—he even enjoyed Flavien’s presence now, of all people—but he stopped himself just in time.

Jonah’s psychotherapist had opened his eyes to the challenges of being in a relationship with someone who’d lost a partner they loved. Many felt as though they were merely a replacement, and that they would always come second in their grieving partner’s heart. Jonah would never tolerate the feeling of being anyone’s second choice, so he could only admire Alan’s strength of character for staying by his side.

The fact that Alan spoke fondly of Elliot meant he’d accepted that he would forever be a part of Jonah. It was now up to Jonah to show Alan that he also held a special place in his heart, and that Alan’s genuine desire to embrace his love for Elliot meant the world to him. It was no teasing matter.

“Would you like to meet my parents?” Alan asked softly. “They’re just over there.”

Jonah’s throat squeezed at the reminder that Alan was also well-acquainted with grief. Much more than he was, in fact. “Yeah.”

“U-unless you wanna stay here a little longer?”

Jonah kissed his temple. “No.”

Alan took a deep, seemingly calming breath, then extracted himself from Jonah’s embrace. He stood up and gazed into the distance for a moment, before turning to look at Jonah with a warm smile amid his tear-streaked face.

Jonah stood up as well, then reached for the hand Alan was offering him, interlocking their fingers together as they started walking toward their next painful destination.

They journeyed across multiple rows of headstones; some new, some old; some big, some small; some with flower bouquets in varying states of decay. Alan’s pace slowed down eventually and they both stopped in front of a large headstone on which two flying doves had been engraved.

“You were just a child,” Jonah whispered as he noticed the year in which Alan’s parents had died—both on the same day. The topic of Alan’s family hadn’t come up again after Jonah’s blunder over dinner, apart from when Alan had told him about his inheritance.

Jonah hadn’t pried. He’d figured Alan would open up when he felt ready to. Although, to be fair, Jonah hadn’t been the most emotionally available boyfriend in the past weeks…or ever. There was a high probability that Alan had actually been waiting for him to be ready.

“They were at a protest for world peace,” Alan said, his voice filled with equal sadness and admiration. “I was supposed to go with them…but I got sick. I was always sick.”

Jonah moved closer and wrapped one arm around Alan.

“For the longest time, I blamed myself,” Alan continued. “I know, it’s stupid, but I couldn’t help thinking that maybe…if I’d been there with them, they would have stayed on the sidewalk.”

It came back to Jonah suddenly. He was just a child himself when it happened, but his mom had mentioned it a few months ago because it was the fifteenth anniversary of the tragic event.

An impatient driver had snapped and ran over some of the protesters who were blocking the road, resulting in four dead and multiple injured. Jonah’s mom had mentioned how she’d broken down crying when she saw a picture of the little boy who’d just lost both his parents in the news back then.

Jonah stood behind Alan and gently pulled him against his chest, enveloping him in an embrace he hoped would make him feel safe and supported.

“Mom, dad,” Alan said as he caressed Jonah’s wrist softly. “This is Jonah. He makes me very happy.” His last word came out broken as he started crying.

Jonah leaned in and pressed his cheek against Alan’s, which was once again wet with tears. He tenderly stroked whichever part of Alan’s body his hands could reach, while still enveloping him in a protective embrace—holding his pieces together as Alan broke down in his arms.

“Sorry—” Alan choked out. “We came here for you and—”

“Shh. We’re here for us .”

Alan exhaled a shaky breath as his sobs quieted down, relaxing slightly in Jonah’s embrace as he once again held him in front of a heavy load of memories.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jonah said after a moment of silence, his voice thick with emotion. “Your son makes me happy too. He’s…like a tiny sun. Always brightening everyone’s day. You would be excessively proud of him. He’s the kindest person I know, and the smartest, too.”

Alan tried to turn around, but Jonah held him firmly in place. It was easier to put his feelings into words when he couldn’t see Alan’s expressive eyes.

“He never gives up, no matter the challenges life throws at him,” Jonah continued. “And he does it all with a smile, when most of us would be shouting at the sky and cursing the world for its unfairness. I’m grateful that I met him.He stole and mended my broken heart, and changed my life for the better. I feel…privileged to be with him.” Jonah closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “And I love him.”

Alan gasped and managed to turn around despite Jonah’s tight embrace. His lips trembled as he held Jonah’s gaze, his beautiful eyes conveying a load of feelings that would have scared Jonah shitless a few months ago.

Jonah exhaled what felt like five years’ worth of air as Alan stood on his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Jonah leaned in and met him halfway, pouring all of his affection into his embrace as he held Alan close.

“I love you too,” Alan murmured into his ear, making blissful warmth spread to every part of Jonah’s body.

Jonah closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to the side of Alan’s head, his heart swelling with love as his favorite mixture of fragrances filled his lungs. W arm summer breeze and strawberry milkshake , with a hint of ylang-ylang.

Jonah couldn’t tell for how long they held each other. It may as well have been a minute or an hour; it was impossible to tell.

Whenever he was with Alan, time itself became a blurry concept. Every moment they spent together was far too significant to adhere to mundane laws of physics. It was like they were suddenly transported to the paths between heaven and earth, where they were free to bask in their love for however long they wished.

Shielded from all of life’s bullshit.